


A fingernail to attack

by keysmash



Series: Supernatural s5 Codas [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_30snapshots, Episode Related, Episode: s05e05 Fallen Idol, M/M, Pre-Slash, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysmash/pseuds/keysmash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She might be an everyday sort of brave,<br/>And possess no want or need to be saved,<br/>Examined, and pitied by the likes of me</p><p>from Sherman Alexie's "<a href="http://rattle.com/blog/2009/06/scarlet-by-sherman-alexie/">Scarlet</a>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A fingernail to attack

**Author's Note:**

> Fallen Idol coda. Written for prompt 5 of my [](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_30snapshots/profile)[**spn_30snapshots**](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_30snapshots/) [table](http://latentfunction.livejournal.com/349450.html). Title from Sherman Alexie.

Sam tried, consciously, to get back into the swing of things. He laid salt lines in the motel room, he chalked sigils on the walls, he checked and rechecked weapons, and always, Dean was peering over his shoulder.

Sam didn't turn around, at first. He told himself he was being paranoid, suspicious, that he was looking for a fight they didn't really need to have. His shoulder blades itched, but the tallest guy in the room gets stared at a lot, so he was long used to that. He ignored it now until he found Dean watching him shave one morning. They'd stared at each other in the mirror until Sam scowled and looked away. When he finished and rinsed out his razor, Dean was in a chair, fiddling with his laptop like nothing happened.

After that, it seemed like Dean was right in his space, all the time. They ordered breakfast, and Dean gestured for Sam to go first, then listened with raised eyebrows. They split up for the early legwork on the job and Dean stood just outside the building when Sam came out, all questions and wide eyes. Sam made small talk while he waited in line for the complementary motel coffee, and Dean showed up at his elbow thirty seconds into a conversation about the merits of _Crash_ versus _Stand Up_ to nod along like he knew anything at all about Dave Matthews.

Sam tried to spin it. They'd both gone through clingy phases before, for lack of a better term — Sam after Broward County and Dean after Cold Oak, but also Dean after Jessica, and Madison, and Sam after Cassie. If Dean was doing that now, Sam hardly cared if Dean needed to take or give the comfort. He could shut up about it for a day or two, honestly. There had been a floor-wide team-building exercise during his first week in the dorms, complete with trust falls and mnemonic devices for learning everyone's names at once, so if this was how Dean wanted to get to know each other again, fine. It could be a lot weirder, and Sam would take the constant shadow over a lot of other things.

Except somehow, they got back on the road with a dead god and an actual, grown-up discussion under their belts, and Sam didn't need to just deal with it anymore.

Dean lay across the back seat, but they'd only been going for a few minutes, and Sam could hear him humming. He tapped one boot against the door, out of time with both his tune of choice (Sam thought "Enter Sandman," largely because that was the album in the deck), and with the radio (NPR, and they hadn't announced the show's name yet, but it was an interview, and not music at all). He was going to drive Sam crazy if he kept it up.

Dean's foot still tapped away when they reached the freeway. Sam stretched his right arm across the back of the seat when he stopped at the last light before the access road and looked over his shoulder. Dean's hands rested on his thighs and his fingers drummed to the same tempo as his foot. He was keeping some sort of time, at least. His left leg stretched out to reach the door, with his knee resting against the back of the seat, but he kept his right knee bent, and that foot on the floorboard. His jeans were old and soft enough that the fabric clung to his legs even when they were spread as wide as he had them now.

It wasn't until the car behind him honked that Sam realized he was sitting parked at a green light, and staring at his brother's crotch. Dean frowned and opened his eyes, but Sam turned around and headed through the intersection before he had to meet Dean's gaze.

He turned right. He'd been about to ask Dean which way to go, even after all his big words about partnership and growing up, but Sam took them up onto the freeway instead. It wasn't as if he could change his mind now that they were on the access road, so he kept quiet and went with it.

"Mmm," Dean said. "What was that about?"

Sam glanced at him, even though it meant turning all the way around to the right after just looking left to merge. Dean had stilled his hands and his eyes were closed again, but he hadn't sounded sleepy. Sam couldn't keep himself from looking over Dean's body again, as he turned back to face the road. He rubbed his thumb over his own jeans, just beside the inseam, and bit his lip at the softness of the denim, beaten thin by years of wear and washing. Dean, who'd worn his pants to almost all the same places as Sam, and washed them with all the same harsh detergents, could only be wearing fabric equally as delicate — ready for holes, ready to tear. They were both at risk for blowing out the knees on any job now.

Dean thumped the back of the front seat and Sam jumped. He put his hands firmly on the wheel and shook his head.

"Just some jerk," he said after a moment. "Honking at the red light, like it'd change for him that way."

Dean snorted. "It takes all kinds."

"I guess." Sam gnawed at the inside of his cheek.

"Hey, keep an eye out for a gas station. We're gonna need another tank in a little bit."

Sam rolled his eyes and bit back his comment, then frowned and said it. "Yeah, I know. The gas gauge's right in front of me, Dean."

"Yeah, course it is." Dean might have sighed then, but Sam couldn't tell over the road noise. "Sorry."

Sam shrugged. "S'okay."

Dean went back to tapping after a few moments. Sam glanced at him in the rearview – still stretched out, eyes shut again – and didn't say anything.


End file.
